


The Edge of Tomorrow (Is Where You Left Me Standing)

by Lady_Vibeke



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Leonard Snart Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17352722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “Are you gonna hold this against me forever?” he asks, so calmly he surprises even himself. “Hate me forever for dying on you and making you feel vulnerable, and then popping out of nowhere just like that?”“No.”“You're surely trying your best.”“It's nothing personal, Len,” she sighs, and the fondness she puts in his name moves him. Gives him hope. “I've had my share of losses, and you're the first who made it back.”“We make quite a pair,” he drawls, and Sara smiles.“We'd definitely win the international championship of fucked up.”





	The Edge of Tomorrow (Is Where You Left Me Standing)

_I made a promise to myself_  
_To say each day how much she means to me_  
_And avoid that circumstance_  
_Where there's no second chance_  
_To tell her how I feel_  
― Ronan Keating, If Tomorrow Never Comes

 

*

 

Leonard Snart wondered what death must feel like more times than he can count. He figured it would be painful, but it's not.

He died one second ago, swallowed by the spectacular blinding light of the Oculus exploding, and this is not half as bad as he'd pictured. He felt a violent tug behind his navel, like he was being ripped out of his own skin. It felt like fire when the air gushed out of his lungs, leaving him chocking and wheezing, until it all went black.

And then it was over.

He's trying to blink things into focus. There's a place – an _actual place_ around him, ground beneath his feet. Air. Air in his lungs again. Blood pumping madly in his veins. And a heart drumming in his chest.

This is not what death is supposed to feel like. Not this tangible. Not this physical.

He coughs. There are needles piercing every inch of his body and his head is throbbing so painfully he's starting to feel sick. It takes a few seconds and several deep breaths for it to subside. His sight has barely started to unblur when it hits him: he knows this place.

Knows the way the air smells, knows the feeling of the ground – _the floor_ – under his feet. Knows the dim lights and low buzzing sound droning everywhere around him.

He blinks again, and again, stubbornly, until the Waverider comes into focus.

“What the hell.”

“Don't move.”

Leonard's heart stops. He doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. He knows the voice. He's never going to forget it: it's the very last thing he heard before he died.

He hears a gun being loaded. He smirks.

Sara. Fierce, wonderful Sara.

He raises his hands, docile as a puppy, and slowly turns around. When she sees him, she has a moment of hesitation, so brief anyone else woud probably have missed it. But he doesn't. He sees the flash of stupor on her face, the way her eyes go wide and then narrow again, like she's staring at a threat.

“Who are you?” she asks with a slight tremble. Her lips tighten as she swallows.

Leonard tries to approach, but she points the gun straight between his eyes.

“That's not funny, Sara,” he warns. She looks deadly serious.

“You're not Leo.”

Leonard frowns. “Who even calls me that?”

“I said don't move,” Sara insists, holding the gun more firmly between her hands. “Don't make me open a hole in that pretty face.”

Sara's hands are shaking, almost unnoticeably. So she doesn't believe it's actually him, but cannot bring herself to shoot him. Arms still up, Leonard takes a bold step forward, then another. He grins mischievously.

“Is that how you welcome me back after such a passionate goodbye?”

Sara freezes. He just played the only card he had up his sleeve, the one thing only he could have known, and it's doing its magic: Sara lowers the gun, not completely but enough for Leonard to understand she doesn't see him as an imminent threat anymore.

“No.” Sara tilts her head, scanning him head to toe as if trying to decide if he's real or not. “You can't- You're not-” She fumbles for words, chest rising and falling with the heavy breathing. “Gideon?”

“I have a one hundred percent match with Leonard Snart's DNA, Captain,” announces Gideon's professional voice from above them. “ _Our_ Leonard Snart.”

Leonard smirks, glacing upwards. “Thanks, Gideon.”

“Any time, Mr Snart. Also, it's a pleasure to have you back on board.”

Sara still isn't moving. She's paralised on the spot, studying him with a mixture of wonder and fear.

“How is this even possible?”

Gideon provides an answer before Leonard can even ask himself that very same question: “It appears the destruction of the Oculus trapped Mr Snart in a time vortex, which we crossed during time jump we just took. The Waverider recognised Mr Snart's molecular print and automatically estracted him.”

Plausible, whatever it means.

Sara has lowered the gun, but it's still firmly clutched in her hand. She walks up to him with guarded feline movements, but her look has softened.

“Len.”

Her tone is soft, too. Leonard allows himself to close his eyes for a moment and savour it, inhale it like oxygen. Moments ago he believed he would never hear this voice again.

“Can I move, now?” he asks, jazzing his hands eloquently at the sides of his head. “It's getting uncomfortable.”

Sara nods. “You're supposed to be dead,” she exhales.

“Look,” Leonard begins with a patient sigh. He's as confused as she is, but doesn't see why she's making such a big deal out of it. “All I remember is the Oculus blowing up on my face. I blinked, and here I am.”

“Len,” Sara says with a shiver. “It's- it's been over a year. You've been dead for over a year.”

Leonard hesitates. This is some interesting news. He should probably feel more shocked by such a revelation, but he's feeling all too good to complain.

“Well,” he chuckles, crossing his arms to lean a shoulder against the wall. “I look dashingly good for a rotting corpse, don't you think?”

 

*

 

A lot of things have changed in the neighbourhood during Leonard's absence, it seems.

The Hawks are gone. The Professor's gone. Jackson left. Rip quit and now Sara's in charge. There are two new hot girls who seem to vibe just right around each other, and one new hot guy who apparently has already conquered his way to Raymond's tender heart.

Leonard wonders if this is still his home at all.

But then Mick sees him, and punches him so hard he dislocates Leonard's jaw, and that's the answer. That's all Leonard needed. Home is still home. He just needs to catch up.

Everyone is freaked out by his arrival, and who can even blame them. Even the ones who never knew him know who he is and what happened to him. What he did for this team.

A hero, Raymond called him. He doesn't want to be seen as one. He's no hero, especially not now that his gesture has been invalidated by some sort of timey-wimey miracle.

“So good to have you back, man,” says Raymond when he lauches forward to squeeze Leonard into a crushing hug. Len doesn't protest. He even _hugs_ back. Fuck his reputation: he's glad to see this dork again.

Sara, though.

Sara doesn't seem particularly happy to have him back. Wherever Leonard is, she's somewhere else, and when he finally gets to corner her, she slithers away like a scared cat.

Leonard guesses she's afraid he wants to claim something from her. Something she's not willing to give.

“You're mad,” he says when he finds her sitting on the floor in the cargo bay, a couple of days after his return, arms wrapped around her bent knees.

He sits down next to her. Sara looks the other way. “No.”

“Master assassin. Terrible liar.”

“I watched you die, Leonard,” she hisses, so bitterly it makes him wince. "Forgive me if I'm finding this situation a little unsettling.”

“You also kissed me,” he points out, and the memory of it is very well printed in his mind and in his senses – the look she gave him, the scent of her skin when she reched out, the firm press of her fingers around his arm, of her lips over his own...

“So there's at least one thing you remember.”

“It was one hell of a way to go.”

Sara sighs, props her chin on her knees and glances at him sideways. “Except you're not gone.”

“And I can see how much that troubles you,” Leonard replies, a sharpe edge to his tone. “Do you want my apologies for not dying?”

“You're not funny.”

“Wasn't trying to be.”

“Look, I just-”

“Relax, Sara, I get it,” he interjects. He's not here to push anyone. He understands why Sara is being so seclusive: he abandoned her just when he was starting to get through to her; no wonder she has trust issues. “You gave a dying man something to carry to his grave,” he continues, and realises it hurts to admit it. “Generous deed. End of story. I'm not expecting you to take my hand and walk with me into the sunset.”

Sara turns to him, a crease between her eyebrows: “You think I kissed you just because you were sacrificing yourself.”

It's not a question, and that's not what Leoanrd thinks. Sara Lance would never kiss anyone out of pity, not even on their death bed.

“What I think,” he drawls. “Is that you didn't kiss me until I was dying because it's easier to mourn a dead man than to allow yourself to grow close to a living one.”

Sara purses her lips, shakes her head lightly. “We were something more than just _close_ , Len.”

“Past tense. Sweet.” Leonard knows he has no right to be disappointed. After all, the human heart does strange things in extreme situations. And yet. “Shouldn't surprise me you moved on,” he says, and he's probably talking more to himself than to her. “It's been quite a while, for you.”

“It's a little more complicated than that.”

He quirks a brow. “Is it, now?”

“I don't really want to talk about feelings right now,” Sara sighs, and she must realise her slip, because she meets Leonard's questioningl gaze with an eye roll.

“Feelings,” he echoes. He likes the sound of the word lingering in the air between them. “This is getting interesting.”

Sara glowers at him. “Yeah, keep joking,” she spits. “You don't realise that, do you? What it felt like for me to turn my back to you knowing I was leaving you there to die.”

Leonard bends his head in modesty. “Glad to see my noble sacrifice served its purpose. It would have been a pity, wouldn’t it, if such a spectacular death hadn’t extorted at least a little compassion from you.”

“Stop mocking my grief,” Sara mutters. She turns to him, and the hurt in her eyes is genuine, deeper than any emotion Leonard has ever seen reflected in them.

“Stop looking at me like I betrayed you,” he retorts, and hopes she can see that the hurt in his eyes is genuine, too.

They stare at each other from mere inches away. Shoulder against shoulder, it feels like a flashback: last time they sat together like this, they almost freezed to death.

Sara must be thinking the same thing: her eyes are lost in Leonard's, veiled by a faint haze.

Leonard realises they've been leaning towards each other when the tip of his nose brushes Sara's. He nudges her, offering her a chance to pull away, but Sara doesn't move. She looks at his mouth, then at him; their lips are almost touching when she jerks back like she got electrocuted.

“I'm sorry,” she mumbles hastily, bolting to her feet. “I can't do this.”

She runs out of the cargo bay, out of Leonard's sight, leaving him with a half grin plastered across his lips and the ghost of her taste on the tip of his tongue.

 

*

 

Leonard can't help wondering what could have been of him and Sara, hadn't he chosen the wrong day to play the hero.

He tries to picture the two of them through this one-year gap, patches up the canvas of a relationship mixing facts and wishes: they would have argued a lot, and then have angry make up sex against a wall somewhere; they would have made a nice rough counterpart to Raymond and cute Nathaniel's sweet softness, and maybe Leonard would have flirted with both of them, just for the pleasure of making them nervous and flustered. He and Sara would have addressed each other as _Captain_ and _Mr Captain_ , and Leonard would have been proud of that, proud to belong to this badass, brave woman who has gathered this crooked, funny family around herself and holds them all together under bright, white wings.

But nothing of this is real. He gave his life to save this team, and now that his life has been shoved back into his face, he can't have the one thing he wants, because his death toppled a very delicated balance it had taken him so long to build, and now Sara doesn't even want to be near him.

“You're avoiding me,” he accuses the first time he finds himself alone with her. She's in the parlour drinking beer on her own and glares at him from over the bottle.

“And you're ruining my efforts.”

It's not a reproach. She's almost smiling at him, which is good news. After all, Leonard really just wants to have a civil conversation.

“I'm not a ghost, Sara. You're gonna have to talk to me, sooner or later.”

“How about later, then?”

“I have a right to know why you've been treating me like a leper.”

Sara props her elbows on her spread knees and rubs a hand over her forehead. “You were gone, Len,” she sighs. “You were gone _,_ and I mourned you. I _cried_ for you.” She has to stop for a moment, because her voice is breaking a little. Leonard sees something glistening down her cheek, but a quick brush of her fingers wipes it before he can question it. “I had to come to terms with losing you before I even had you,” Sara continues, refusing to look at him. “But now you're here, asking me to dig up feelings I buried with you, and I don't know if I'm strong enough to do that.”

“Question is: why are you so afraid?”

She gives him a look so cold it makes him shudder.

“Because I buried them alive.”

 

*

 

Leonard is trying to decide if he wants to punch them first and throw up second, or viceversa.

Raymond and Nathaniel are the epitome of perfect couple, and it wouldn't be half as annoying if Leonard wasn't struggling so hard to get at least a glimpse of that with Sara.

He watches as Raymond places himself behind Nathaniel to show him how to properly knead cookie dough. It makes Leonard snort: he didn't come all the way down to the kitchen to witness to this cheesy version of _Ghost,_ but Sara is here, so he stayed, even after his sandwich was over.

Sara is observing the happy pair with a subtle smile she can barely conceal behind the plate of panckaes she's wolfing down. Raymond made them for her; he offered to make some for Leonard, too, but Leonard politely refused; the last thing he needs is more sugar.

Leonard scoots closer to Sara at the table, casts a glance at the two dorks who are placing their flower-shaped cookies on the oven tray and breaks into an indulgent smile.

“So, Raymond and the Pretty Boy.”

“Yeah.” A corner of Sara's lips curls fondly. “They're cute, aren't they?”

The two lovebirds are too busy being obnoxiously in love to pay attention to anything other than each other's eyes. Leonard could set the entire kitchen on fire and they would hardly notice.

“Sickeningly so,” he sneers, ignoring the subtle pang on envy he feel in his chest. “How long has this been going on?”

“Pretty much since Nate arrived. They were definitely meant to be.”

“Some people are that lucky. Takes some guts to bear those lovey-dovey looks,” Leonard grimaces, unable, despite himself, to take his eyes from the cuteness overload. “Is it like that all the time?”

Sara giggles. “Yeah, mostly. Z can't be in the same room with them for longer than five minutes straight.”

“Glad at least there's you and me bringing some good, old angst to the general atmosphere.”

Sara inhales sharply. If Leonard didn't know better, he would mistake it for a sniffle. “I'd be very grateful if you quit joking around this,” Sara says between her teeth.

“So you're the only one entitled to have unhealthy coping mechanisms?” he scoffs. “I didn't ask for any of this. I was ready, Sara. Ready to die and stay dead. I don't know why or how this happened and I can't change it. I'm sorry if my presence is so disturbing to you.”

“Fuck off, Leonard.”

He catches a shimmer in Sara's cold eyes right before she snaps out of her chair and storms away with heavy steps. Leonard meets for a moment Ramond's and Nathaniel's puzzled gazes, then rushes after Sara; he has to run to catch up.

“Sara.”

He grabs her wrist and holds tightly when she tries to shake him off. He makes her turn back and his face darkens when he sees the wet trails across her cheeks. He isn't trying to be mean; he just want to get a reaction from her – _any_ reaction. He's never seen Sara so apatehtic before and she's starting to scare him. He doesn't want to be the reason why she's in this state.

“Go away, please,” she begs. Her nails dig in Leonard's skin to force him to let go of her, but he won't. Not yet. Instead, his free hand reaches Sara's face and cups it gently, urging her to look at him as his thumb wipes away her tears.

“Are these for me?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

Sara hates him. It's written all over her face, in the stiffness of her body.

“Is this what you wanted?” she yells in an angry sob. Leonard's chest tightens. “To see me cry for you? To see I _care?”_ Sara's lip quivers. It's a punch to Leoand's stomach. _“_ Fine!” She yanks herself from his grip. “Enjoy the show! Take it all in! Wanna take a picture?”

Leonard stares. It's hard to keep himself from pulling her to him to smother her cry into his chest. “Yes, I'd love to,” he says softly. “Tears become you.”

“Screw you,” Sara hisses, and Leonard smirks.

“Yes, please.”

He sees the punch coming.

He doesn’t try to dodge it.

 

*

 

“What happened to your face?” asks Raymond with wide eyes when Leonard returns to the kitchen with a tumefied cheekbone.

Leonard brushes his fingers over the sore spot. He winces for the pain, but smiles at it.

“Sara and I have very peculiar flirting techniques.”

 

*

 

Things have become so tense between Leonard and Sara that even the team is getting worried. He tells himself he should forget about everything – the Oculus, the kiss, his own feelings for her – but the harder he tries, the more he ends up thinking of the tears on Sara's face, of the way she screamed at him. She's afraid – _he makes her afraid_ – but he has no idea why.

He would have never thought he would live to see Sara cry. For _him_ , of all people.

He's been leaving her alone, giving her space to confront her inner turmoil and maybe – _maybe_ – realise all he really wants it to get back to where they left off, pick up whatever pieces are left of what they had, stitch them together as best as they can and start anew from there.

She comes to him, eventually. She drags herself all the way to his room, walks in all sulky and quiet and with her arms crossed. Not the best premise, but Leonard will take anything coming his way, at this point.

He's lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, which he raises just enough to arch a brow in her direction. Sara rolls her eyes, but closes the door behind her and slumps down next to him. Leonard sits up, crosses his legs and leans forward, elbows in his knees, waiting.

“Is the Captain finally ready to parlay?”

Sara turns to him ever so slowly, ice blue eyes studying him intently. “You kinda gave me a lot to mull over,” she mutters. Leonard feels an insane urge to bend over and kiss the freckles on her nose. Would this make her laugh or would it make her flinch away?

“Are you gonna hold this against me forever?” he asks, so clamly he surprises even himself. “Hate me forever for dying on you and making you feel vulnerable, and then popping out of nowhere just like that?”

“No.”

“You're surely trying your best.”

“It's nothing personal, Len,” she sighs, and the fondness she puts in his name moves him. Gives him hope. “I've had my share of losses, and you're the first who made it back.”

“We make quite a pair,” he drawls, and Sara smiles.

“We'd definitely win the international championship of fucked up.”

“We both had a second chance where most people don't get one. Are we really going to waste it?”

“Relationships on board of this ship never worked out very well.”

“The pretty boys seem to be doing just fine.”

“Only exception so far.” A shade of sadness darkens Sara's face. “We could never be like them.”

“No, we couldn't,” Leonard agrees. “That's not us. Never will be. Damaged people like us don't work that well together.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Picking up breadcrumbs.”

Her mouth curls shyly. “Nice. I can already feel the hunger.”

“Ever tried not starving yourself?”

Sara didn't see this blow coming. He sees her wince, and someohow she seems to shrink into herself. They both know he has a point: if there's one thing Leonard has learned about the White Canary, it's that she's never afraid of anything, except her own feelings.

She has barley started moving when he says: “Don't do that.”

“What?”

Leonard tilts his head to one side. “You're going to stand up and walk away.” He gives her a pointed look, and she looks back at him like a deer caught in the headlights. She seems sad. Vulnerable. Leonard smiles: “How about you stay and tell me how you really feel, for a change?”

Sara swallows, her eyes glassy. “You wanna know how I feel, Leonard?” she retorts in a sharp whisper. “Okay.” Her brows knit spitefully. “Every time I look at you, I see myself kissing you goodbye, over and over. Every time I look into your eyes, I _feel_ you die. I'm furious, and terrified,” she spits. “Because I'm afraid you're going to be taken away again just as quickly as you were brought back to me.”

Leonard shouldn't feel so flattered, but he can tell how much it's costing her to pronounce these words and he can't help paraphrasing them into much simpler ones: Sara is afraid of losing him again.

“And how can I possibly relate to that, I wonder,” he comments, and his sarcasm earns a little grin from Sara. She slides closer, until she's almost in his lap. Leonard holds his breath when she cups his cheek with a hand.

“I want to give us a chance, Len.”

And it's everything. Everything he needeed to hear, and yet it's not enough. He can sense there's more, can see it in the glimmer in Sara's eyes.

“But.”

She shakes her head. “No buts.”

“Bullshit. There's a _but_ as big as Raymond's stupid heart.”

Sara drops her gaze with a silent laugh. Leonard is suddenly feeling strangely powerful: anyone can get a punch from Sara Lance, but how many people can make her _laugh?_

“ _But,_ ” she finally admits. “I hope you're done with the hero stunts, because I like my crooks selfish and safe.”

“No, you don't.”

“Alright. Just safe, then.”

Leonard smirks. “We'll see about that. Captain.”

“I need more than that,” she objects. “I need you to promise you won't do anything stupidly noble that'll get yourself killed.”

“As long as I get to go with your taste in my mouth, I'm alright with that,” he shrugs, and it's not even a lie. He had been ready and willing to die, but Sara's kiss had given a whole new meaning to his sacrifice, making it twice as hard for him to go, knowing there could have been an _us_ for them. A _future_.

A future they can have again, now, for reasons they can't even comprehend, but he's here, and he's real, and he wants to make sure she knows that. That he's here to stay.

“Well, I'm not,” she says. “I'm your Captain, now. You do as I say.”

“Bossy. I like it,” he purrs.

Sara takes his face between her hands – small, strong hands – and leans over to brush her lips over his. “Will you be a good boy, Leonard?”

His eyes caress the blizzard of freckles ghosting her face, her blonde lashes casting light shadows on her cheeks. She's as beautiful as he remembered, but he can see what the last year or so has done to her. He can see lines in her expression that weren't there before, he can see how hard it is for her to entrust him with a chance. Yet here she is, daring a small, tentative smile while looking at him with something like hope glistening in her eyes.

And maybe that's it. That's all it takes for two people who went all the way to hell and back.

Plain, stupid hope.

It's something completely new to him, something unfamiliar and foreign like this love he feels for this girl who was an assassin, then a soldier, then a hero.

Leonard slides his arms around Sara's waist, wraps her close to himself. A smug grin tugs at his lips as he kisses her.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I've written an Avalance fanfic and, yes, I ship Avalance. Very much. But, in case you guys haven't noticed yet, I'm a shameless multishipper and I basically ship all my babies with happiness.  
> It took me forever to finish this and I'm still not satisfied, but whetever.  
> I have no idea if there's still Captain Canary fans out there, but, if you're there, I hope you enjoy this.


End file.
